The Lost Silmarils
by bhut
Summary: An AU. What if the Silmarils never came to be


**Lost Silmarils**

_A tale of what wasn't, but could have been_

He summoned the Lord of Darkness through the unimaginable, unbelievable space, but he didn't hear the desperate summons.

_In the guise of True Darkness Melkor barely avoided the chase of the Valar - the silvery knocking of Orome's hooves and Tulkas' heavy steps were no longer heard in the unbreakable gloom, for the mighty warriors grew afraid from the smoking Ungoliant and retreated before her. But the being of emptiness, after giving aid to the Rebel, didn't want to release him for free. Chased by Ungoliant, he fled into the Outer lands, and in the deserted mountain land she demanded her fee - the elven stones._

_The Lord of Darkness gave-up the treasures that meant naught for him. _

_But the creature wanted the Silmarils._

_Feanor's stones burned unendurably his right hand and Melkor felt how he grew weaker with every moment._

_"You will not have them!" yelled he, for it was their light that he thirsted for (in the depths of his soul he still thirsted for light!). _

_"Then I'll destroy you!"_

_A deadly net had grabbed him in, in that same moment and he could not free himself - the strength of true darkness shattered against the primeval space, like a sea tide against the granite cliffs. Has he grown so weak that he was unable to deal with the unsatable creature? Intolerable pain ripped him apart - never did he experience such a pain... The Silmarils - a desired treasure and undodgeable curse..._

_Then Melkor yelled and cliffs shuddered from his shout. _

The emptiness broke for a moment, and, at last, he was able to reach his Lord and teacher... But what could he, a Maia, do with the primeval space? All spells were used in waste; coal-black, unbreakable gloom covered him, binding with many unseen binds...

A fiery sword cleft the opposing gloom, cleaving the binds, but all in vain - he as if cleft the swamp ooze, that just sucked-in deeper and deeper. Well the, he'll fall in battle, and may be, in part, he'll pay-up for his weakness... When the army of Valar was storming Utumno, he was vanquished by the Maiar of Aule, but using trickery had escaped, pretending to be the slight fog on the bottom of a deep ravine. He was not searched for then, for they sought to capture the Lord - and next to him desperately fought the fiery warriors from a number of fallen Maiar... What if they would come and help! But, apparently, the demons died, and went to answer for all to Eru...

_Hearing the rulers' voice, the terrible Valaraukar, the demons of underground flame, arose from the depths of the earth, where from the times of the last war they hid from the Valar fury, they like scarlet meteors burst into the compact gloom of Ungoliant and began to slice her with huge flaming swords. The creature retreated under their advance, and in fear fled to the east, and the fiery warriors chased her like a pack of quick-footed hounds. The battle was quickly growing distance, and it looked like an unseen-before thunderstorm was unleashed over the other lands..._

For a long time they fled through the gloom, like fiery-black clouds, chased by a storm...

The Iron Mountains... Snowless broken teeth, threatening to rip the starless sky, and beyond them - cold, grayish-feeble whiteness of eternal ices... Bottomless abysses and twisting ravines had sliced the face of Arda and a huge hole shone on the place of the ruined citadel of Utumno. In its depth one could vaguely see dark-scarlet sparks - subterranean fire or hidden Valaraukar?

A faceless terrifying shadow landed onto the unreachable cliff. A bright spark of Light shone, like a star, through her dripping shape... Another shadow, light, almost unnoticeable but slightly glowing neared to the first.

A moment later they stood at the very edge, one against another - both tall, black-haired, darkly handsome, similar like an elder and youngest brothers.

The rebellious one looked tired and even cracked, pain froze in his bottomless dark eyes, while his pupil and closest aid looked joyous but slightly lost...

"Artano?" Melkor didn't believe his eyes, and, it seemed that his pain retreated for a moment. "So you weren't unclad by those lickboots of Valar?"

The Maia bent his head...

"Forgive me, Lord..."

"For what? That you hadn't shared with me the imprisonment in Mandos' chambers and slavery? That you are not wearing these?" he raised his hands - have steel bracelets grabbed the mighty wrists of the fallen Vala. "I don't have anything to forgive you for. You escaped," he smiled slyly, "and, therefore, I was a good teacher. And I see that you remained loyal to me..."

Like a mountain fell-off Artano's shoulders.

"Listen to me rebellious one. We have little time, or rather - you have..."

"I think we have an eternity in front of us," Melkor grinned.

"The eternity is short... And your right hand is holding your doom. This treasure burns your palm, for it is cursed, o Lord of Darkness!"

"The silmarils are blessed by Varda..." uttered the rebellious one, but doubt read in his eyes. The boy was right, in the name of Darkness, and the pain doesn't recede, and the flesh is burn almost to the bones! Pain ravages fana, and he doesn't even feel enough strength for one more reincarnation... And earlier he built the mountains, he cast down the Pillars of Light, he tried to remake Arda in his image...

"Yes Lord, they are cursed. It is said, that they'll burn any unclean hand that touched them..."

Melkor grew gloomy.

"I didn't know that..." His face got so distorted from fury that Artano even became scared of the Lord's anger. "But when did I ever step away from my desires? I always reach my goal! May they go to Chaos with all their curses and blessings?"

Suddenly Melkor's gaze cleared and he looked into the bright eyes of his student. He knew that no one can endure this gaze and lie.

"But from where did you learn this? Even I, a Vala, wasn't able to pierce their thoughts and learn this mystery, and you're - just a Maia..."

"Believe me. Here's my mind, I'm open before you...

Just where I didn't wonder, while you... were captured... But Valinor was closed for me... I wandered through Arda, but found only the Eldar, and orcs, who had lost the way and the service..."

At the mentioning of the orcs the face of the Rebellious one got distorted - they were his first failed attempt to imitate Eru. Melkor wanted to create ideal warriors for him, obedient and fearless, and supposedly did all like the omnipotent Father of the World... He supposed that they would be like the elves - beautiful, mighty, but at that same time different - furious, cruel, treacherous... Didn't happen. The orcs turned-out ugly, what, actually, wasn't the worst mistake, but worse than that - hopelessly stupid. Now it was necessary to somehow improve their nature, but how? The elves wouldn't work - for them to reproduce a great love was needed...

"I searched for the means to aid you... A weapon, capable of breaking the flow of war between us and the Valar...You taught me that in the endless Ea are other worlds... So, I found the way into one of them... It is dissimilar to Arda, for it has no material, and is inhabited only by the spirits, Ainur. They are our brothers, but they learned more then we did someday. And then I asked a question."

"What question?"

"Of our victory. Instead they showed me the story of our defeat. And your imprisonment, and the death of the Trees, and the exile of the Noldor... The fratricide... But it is only the beginning of the end!"

"You're mad!"

"Teacher," quietly spoke Artano, "You always sought just one thing - freedom. Freedom to create and destroy, love and hate..."

Melkor folded the left fist... He couldn't forget the one, who an eternity ago preferred another, his brother, and now were the Mistress of the Stars... No, they weren't made for each other, but still... And now the True Light, preserved by the magic of Feanaro and her "blessing", must ruin him, who had risen in his Might! Oh, cruel fate...

"Do you really want that those accursed stones weakened your fana, lost for you the power over material, took away the ability of reincarnation! Look at your hands - they are burned and you can't heal the burns!"

Melkor barely overpowered the pain, which hurt not only his palms, but his body as well, growing stronger.

"Yes, I feel it... I grow weaker. Earlier I could have alone deal with the creature of space... I never felt anything like that..."

"Dwelling in the lands of Aman had wearied you. Near is the hour, when naught will be able to heal you. But right now there's a chance..."

"And still I am the strongest of the Valar; I care naught for the weak attempts of my kin! The noldor said - in these stones the fate of Arda is enclosed. And now it is in my hands!"

Melkor laughed a terrible laugh, which caused stones to drop from the cliffs.

Artano paled from desperation. Then he decisively opened the depths of his memory, dumping onto the rebellious one a flood of surprisingly real images, all that he had seen with his inner site, that entire he was shown by their kin from another world.

"See, then!" yelled he.

"You do not lie," Melkor uttered quietly.

_He clearly saw all that Artano wanted to forewarn him about. The warhost of noldor, landing in the Middle-earth. Dagor-nu-Gilliath, death of the hateful Feanaro... The swords of Eldar wound the orcs; they are no longer feeling so free in Beleriand... Dagor Aglareb, the beginning of the siege of Angband. He gathers strength lying in waiting, but weakens with every year, the iron crown grows heavier, burns wound him, and he no longer is capable of battle and creation... Bragollach... Finally he'll put all in the proper places! Orcs empty Beleriand. But the wounds, brought by Fingolfin, do not heal and he can't even change fana... Beren and Luthien steal a Silmaril - and this becomes his shame, a witness to his powerlessness... Truly, he is capable only of managing slaves._

"No!" yelled the Lord of Darkness. Artano didn't lie.

"Behold, then!"

_The victory is close by, people are enslaved, the eldar kingdoms fall one after another into dust, and Feanor's curse brings rich fruit. It seems that just a little more of waiting, and Middle-earth, like a ripe fruit, will fall itself into his black hands. But True Light leads the Mariner into the Blessed lands, and Valar do not refuse to help him._

_He's so weak that can't defend him. Chained, like an escaped slave, he is dragged to Valinor. There Namo utters the sentence. _

_A shining sword rises over the head of kneeled Melkor. He is executed as a rebel and his spirit is exiled over the borders of Ea._

"No!" shouted Melkor one more time, in anger squashing the crystal box in his hand. Shards stabbed into his wound, causing inhuman suffering. "In the name of nothing and unborn spawn of Ungoliant!"

"You can change your fate. Destroy the Silmarils - and with them will fall the last hope of Valar!"

"Hope is ruinous," answered Melkor, bearing a strange grin. "Nothing is worse than estel. Only despair gives us freedom! If you believe yourself to be dead - although we, the immortals, are threatened by it only partially, but still threatened - you're fearless nothing will stop you! You uttered - hope? I'll ruin it in into dust like those cursed trees!"

Artano with adoration stared at his Lord and teacher.

"Yes, in the name of Darkness and our victory, I'll do that!"

Crazy joy burned in the bottomless eyes of the rebellious one. He rose to his full immense height and thick streams of icy wind fluttered his hair, which resembled streams of darkness. Lightning fell of his stretched hands and struck the bottom of the deep ravine. The flesh of Arda opened-up. Like three drops of light the Silmarils fell into it, and consumed by the fiery heart, vanished in the merciless flame. The mountains shuddered, huge shards of basalt fell into the ravine, and a few moments later the edges of the crack closed anew.

Tired, Melkor dropped his hands, noticing with surprise that the pain passed, and like a heavy load fell off his shoulders. The burns were healing right before his eyes...

"My brave Artano," he said with a smile. "You were right and I'm grateful to you for that. I again feel that might that gave me my name! And freedom... from myself."

"Teacher..."

"The wild tigers of anger are wiser that the laborious horses of patience," mysteriously uttered him and clapped his student on the shoulder. Now on his palms were only some terrible, dark, but fully healed scars. "Once I've heard that from father. Admittedly, at that moment, I didn't have brothers and sisters... And you, of course, weren't..."

"I don't understand you..."

"I'll tell. You must know... Father created us by his thoughts, isn't that so? But in a creation cannot be what isn't in the creator himself. For we are not just his children, we are his creations."

The meaning of his words wasn't immediately understood by Artano.

"I never thought about that... Then, he by his will allowed that we oppose the Valar and create what we call evil?"

"Good and evil don't exist. They were created by the Valar to judge their and others' deeds. But since Eru created me as I am - and got a rebellion! Eru knew that that'll be so, for He created the future."

Artano couldn't utter a word.

"But this means... That Eru himself made his Enemy..."

"Yes. His oldest and beloved son... For originally I wore the name Alkar - Shining. I was the Morning Dawn and became the Lord of Darkness. But what's that name to me! I chose another one for myself, and it became a part of me. He needed an Enemy, for otherwise the entire Arda would've become such a toy kingdom as Valinor! All would've lived in blessedness, heeded their elders and didn't think about their own freedom. How this all is tasteless, boring and disgusting..."

"I thought you desire to rule."

"No, Artano. I'll teach them to be free," Melkor stiffly smiled, "give a will to their own passions and go into a hopeless battle with a smile on the face. I'll teach them cold despair and disobedience, love of ruling and ambitions that causes the creation of kingdoms and their toppling into dust... I'll teach them to love..."

"Love?"

"Yes, to love themselves. And not to feel conscientious about that... I'll open to them the depths of secret knowledge, and then they'll become equal to the Valar and even above them!" With inspiration did glow the deathly-white face of the Black Vala. "I don't need an empire, for every empire eventually comes to demise. I'll choose another way - the minds and the hearts will be the battle-field. There's nothing stronger than seduction..."

"But the Elves are too strong..."

"Remember Feanaro and other noldor, slaying the teleri! And that's still not all. I would like to talk with our wise brothers. You told me the future, but now it changed. And I want to know, if I'm on the right way... Maybe they'll teach me..."

Artano couldn't comprehend his lord - from that moment when he had destroyed the Silmarills, Melkor had subtly changed. What has happened?

The cuffs of hatred, which couldn't be broken, became mere rusty iron.

**Utumno's underground**

_"Shudder, o Black Enemy of the World, for the hour of payment is near!" _

_In the starless nocturnal darkness only scarlet glimmers of the burning bonfire and a multitude of torches lit their way. The snow-white ships were now burned away almost completely and there was no way back. _

_An unexplainable insanity grasped them - it contained and desperate rejoicing, and bitterness, and foretaste of soon-to-come revenge. The battle-yells of noldor, multiplied by the wandering echo scattered through the deserted cliffs of Lammot, the trumpets were blowing, and swords struck shields. Such a noise in these places, were probably raised by naught - except for Morgoth. May be, they were trying to awaken in themselves fury and choke the spiritual pains, for their kinsmen-teleri had died from the swords of noldor and their kin and tribesmen treacherously abandoned in the cruel ices of Araman... They cannot redeem this sin._

_"I can see, friends, that your hearts are dark... And our way lies through the darkness, which had cloaked the Blessed Lands and came to Middle-earth! But darkness isn't eternal, for the pale face of the sun becomes brighter, the darkness gradually disperses. There, in Valinor, we didn't see the sun, but the sunrise is near!_

_A curse fell onto us, but the price of vengeance can never been excessive, just as the price of honor and valor cannot be. We'll avenge the death of our king and return the True Light! _

_And gain freedom! "_

...To say with honesty, I imagined our quest differently - victorious battles with the enemy's armies, the storm of the Dark Citadel, a battle with Moringoto... I had what to counter with his dark sorcery. But these lands are deserted, on the forested shores of Mitrim only the scanty sindar dwell. From them we somehow learned the latest news - their language differs from ours, but we got their meaning.

No citadel of the enemy exists in the north. However, in the neighborhood, the gangs of uruks run wild and bring terror to peaceful settlements. The fighting goes-on with a changeable success - not surprising, for the sindar aren't very skilful weapon-smiths and prefer hunting bows.

The uruks deserve a separate mention. They've confronted several times our fore-teams, without, of course, any excessive damage for us. A wild and blood-thirsty people, in the eldar lands the uruks dwell by robbing and banditry, while from the tales of the captured prisoners, in north-east and east, over the mountains, their nomadic tribes breed livestock. I've heard that in the primeval days Moringoto bred their kind, perverting the selves of the captured elves, but by looking at them, I understand the depth of that misconception. There is a distinctive similarity, but the uruks - are nothing more than a pathetic counterfeit, an attempt of a skillless apprentice to imitate the master, mocking his creations. However, enough of them, this Enemy's spawn don't deserve a complete attention. Our warhost is moving through Dor-Daedelot, and here, among the broken cliffs, they hid into their cracks like cockroaches.

...Walking becomes harder and harder - the valleys unexpectedly break-off into ravines, everywhere are terrifying, giant gaps from which to all sides scatter twisted cracks of the ravines. Cliff-shards the size of a small castle are scattered with an unimaginable force. This is an ancient field of battle, where forever remain the tracks of the great might of the Valar.

I don't abandon hope of finding Utumno. May be, the enemy had hid there and gathers strength for a crushing attack. While he is weak it is time to ruin that wasp next. Only where it is? The black cliffs keep silence, only a cold wind howls in the gloom. Sun shows more and more often, and an utter nocturnal darkness turns into tricky grey dusk during the day.

Nelio said to me in the morning that our way's in vain, and we'll reach only an empty house whose master will not come back... I was infuriated, but maybe he is right?

...Sometimes it appears to me that Moringoto suffers. If he bears the Silmarils, then his sufferings will never end... And that is fair, for I suffer too...

...Today we came to the ruins of Utumno. There, in the depths are only smudged scarlet shadows - hidden Valaraukar or simply subterranean fire, reaching through the cracks in Arda's flesh. I summoned the Enemy to the battle, but the only answer was an utter silence. Apparently, in that moment in the hearts of many doubt settled... The goal of the quest vanishes like sand through a grip.

We broke camp in a wide valley, dug by cracks and deep holes, places between tall cliffs. Probably, in ancient times it served something like a pass into the very heart of the Enemy's citadel. Century's passes and earth had time to heal the wounds: through the valley flows a quick mountain river with clear, almost icy water, through the stones green grass is growing and in some places there are even fragile flowers, resembling little stars, a few times I've seen flying birds.

As we found-out, the Iron Mountains aren't so bad... Or is it just a mockery over our doom and curse? And vengeance - only a wraith that leads me to my doom, and murder and treason - not a meaning but an unavoidable summary of my life? Hatred to Nolofinwe slowly dies down, while the payment for my crimes nears - he won't get back, won't return to Valinor, for is also marked, and one of us soon will become a brother-killer...

I calmed myself, but couldn't, and I wanted to flatten these mountains to the ground, and pull Moringoto out of his hide-out! Gloom, despair and fury pushed me forward...

I decided not to procrastinate and on that same evening went to check Utumno. Of course, I wanted to realize my plan alone and therefore departed secretly, under the cover of night. But I, supposedly on accident, was intercepted by Curufinwe. Could I refuse him? Then from somewhere appeared Tielcormo - where's one, there's another. The further we went - the more of us gathered... In short, the story was finished by that all eight of us went. As usual...

I ordered Ambarto and Ambarussa to stay on guard. They weren't overjoyed but submissed - who knows what creatures wander around here during the nights? Quite possible, that these creatures can cut the ropes that go into the ravine and leave us to a certain doom.

We descended into an unseen darkness; the cold bluish glow of our transparent torches couldn't scatter it. Praise Eru, the eldar can see in the darkness, but it was not a mere darkness, but something firm, almost touchable. The ropes of one hundred ranges in length were barely enough to reach the bottom... If one can call a bottom a gathering of shards of basalt and granite, twisted rusty iron, giant stairways that abruptly drop into the ravines... In immeasurable depths of the cracks burned scarlet flame - living, flowing, like molten metal. Looking into one of them I unwillingly stepped back - on the background of bright flame some dark silhouettes slithered by.

Valaraukar, fiery warriors, ancient allies of Moringoto.

We moved with full caution, with bared swords. Morio was less lucky than the others - he didn't notice a pit and fell into it. Of course, he had a big bruise but fortunately didn't break anything. And the Raukar too, apparently, don't have any business for us. When Morio looked around, he found-out that this was no pit but a mine in which was a half-broken spiral staircase, leading to the depths of Utumno. The mine survived by a miracle - a shard of a giant plinth covered it diagonally, leaving an impressive crack. At least, sufficiently big to let a large noldo with complete equipment to fall into it. We had to unbury it for a long time, but our labor wasn't in vain - the way was open. Via the ladder we descended into a huge cavern, rather a chamber with cut-out columns of black marble, supporting the ceiling - some of them were toppled and cracked apart. The engravings, covering the walls, awoke in me a white jealousy to the unknown masters. Can the minions of the Enemy be able to carve these thin, delicate ornaments, images of flowers and birds, and also of unknown beasts, resembling winged lizards but incomparably more beautiful? Or... he did it himself? For in Blessed Lands the noldor learned from him...

In the opposite end of the chamber stood a tall throne, filled with majesty and elegance. Under a close scrutiny was found-out that it was carved from black adamant...

The throne of the Lord of Darkness.

'The owner isn't at home. I thought so." uttered Maitimo, worryingly looking to the sides, just like the others - the fire demons could not be discounted. The sons didn't know what I had stored for Moringoto...

I suddenly felt a strange feeling, an unexplainable desire. I want to the foot of the throne, went up the stairs...

And suddenly felt someone presence.

He stepped from the darkness - a short sinda, and if my eyes didn't trick me, quite young, in simple hunting garb and a wide dark cape. Judging from his appearance, in the ancient stronghold of darkness he felt quite sure and didn't sense fear.

"What are you doing here?" I asked surprised, forgetting about courtesy.

"And what the mighty warriors that came from the sea are doing here?" he answered a question with a question, in a very archaic quenya. Interesting, from where does this boy know it?

"We are searching for the owner of this inhospitable house," said I, "to ask from him one debt and give away another."

Tielcormo and Curufinwe couldn't contain mirthless laughter. Morio gloomily stared at the stranger - he was clearly not in the mood because of a bruised leg. Maitimo remained unperturbed, but quite naturally bent his hands on his chest - under his arm plating he had hidden sheaths with throwing knives. Macalaure looked thoughtful.

"You can see that no one is here," the young sinda shook his head. Something in his intonations worried me and I slowly moved towards him. "He, who you see, is far, far away..."

I took his answer for a poor joke.

"If perchance you'll meet Moringoto, give him a greeting from Feanaro... if you'll stay alive."

We stood against each other. I attentively looked him in the eye and he didn't break gaze. He had strange eyes, strange and scary; darker than darkness did they appear to be.

"You can consider that you've already gave him that, noble Feanaro." with a naive smile said the youth.

I couldn't sustain laughter. Apparently, this boy didn't understand, whom I mean.

"When I entered, you wanted to sit onto this throne, right?" quietly and slyly asked he.

Well, he's got spunk!

"Am I holding accountable to you?"

"And if you were offered to take His place and become the king of the world?" the sinda wouldn't quit.

Blood rushed to my head.

"Just how you dare to compare me with the Enemy! He killed my father!"

The former smile shone on his face.

"Leave, noble Feanaro, for you find here your Moringoto."

"First answer me, who are you," through the teeth said I, for no longer could control myself, and grabbed him by the shoulders, but he slithered aside, like a shadow, and vanished from the site. Only from the darkness came a silvery laughter...

"He's mad," uttered Maitimo, shrugging his shoulders. "Probably got lost here and lost his mind..."

"If that be so," darkly exhaled Macalaure.

"Pity, that I didn't grab him at once," Tielcormo shook his head. "He seemingly fell through the ground..."

And Curufinwe raised something from the floor. It was a sliced shard of a huge two-hand sword with a huge hilt.

"Let's go back," said I. "There's nothing more for us to do."

Like an unbearable weight fell onto my shoulders...

On the surface, an unpleasant surprise was awaiting us - the twins were attacked by the uruks, but Ambarto and Ambarussa fought them off, and on the stones lay no less than a dozen of killed creatures. Both received light wounds were looked satisfied: the confrontation partially smoothed the disappointment from that they weren't lucky to look at Utumno inside...

...We returned to Mitrim. The darkness gradually disperses and with each day the surroundings become lighter. But I feel - many of us are lost. We were readying for war, and now are standing on the ruins of a castle, ruined not by us...

Nothing draws together, strengthens the will, as a clear and near image of the Enemy, with whom it is necessary to battle not till life but till death... Where to seek Moringoto and lost Silmarils? I don't know yet. But he won't escape me, for I will chase him to the very limits of the External Sea, and if I'll manage - and in the eternal darkness.

We sought freedom and new lands - here they are before us. According to sindar, Elwe Sindgollo, the king of Doriath, doesn't fancy strangers. We'll see we'll see...

That boy from Utumno can't leave my mind. Fancy that - become the king of the world! But I remember his words and into my heart a treasonous thought encroaches...

And I fell into his bottomless black eyes - Enemy eyes...

... The sun rises. I hear the sound of trumpets. It's the forces of Nolofinwe coming near...

**Beloved**

He loved the night - not that mysterious, transparent world pierced by moonlight, but starless darkness, which seemingly cloaked him, consumed without a trace... A sightless night resembled Lord Melkor without whom he felt lonely and forlorn... But their sojourn couldn't last long, for the Teacher merely sent him to find out what had changed in Arda during the time of their absence...

And for now - one could leave labors and enjoy the startling icy wind, howling amongst the broken cliffs and continually flashing lightning. Fleshless and weightless, he flew in the tightly bound and striking streams, sometimes rising to the clouds, sometimes falling to the bottom of a deep ravine...

Soon he grew bored of this amusement. In the guise of light steam Artano slithered into one of cracks of a cliff on the bottom of a deep ravine and after sometime he reached a cave - the same cave where he once hid from the warhost of Valar. Here, in the quiet and primeval gloom, he could relax a bit...

The aether slightly shuddered... Artano clearly sensed a presence of a creature of the same kind as his. Valarauko? Primeval and untamable force radiated from the unknown Maia and together with that - interested, pre-disposition... Their wills contacted and Artano felt a soft, petting touch of a flame that warmed but didn't burn... In reply he shook the space and streams of fresh wind flew over the stranger... Small sparks pierced him, causing his spirit to be filled with unexplainable relaxation...

"My name's Artano..."

"I know, you're His Pupil... You can call me Ore".

"She, Who Arose,"

"Almost right... But I am of the Fallen Spirits, as we are named by the Valar".

"Who are you?"

The darkness fell asunder and to his gaze came a tall and stately figure, cloaked with scarlet flame. Smoky wings, pierced with dim sparks, barely shuddered, blindingly-fiery mane, resembling the tongues of living flame, streamed in unseen flows, piercing the creation... Huge prolonged eyes beamed with merciless scarlet light, and her was complete and simultaneously - terrifying, for it brought the seal of destruction... How could the captivating maids of Este and enchanting Tindriel compare with her?

Artano appeared before the Valarauke in his common guise, and sadly thought that he doesn't look as impressive...

"Why didn't we meet earlier, o beautiful Ore?"

She laughed, and she laughed resembled a remote sound of an avalanche.

"You want to know?"

"Yes."

"I'll tell you."

And he saw the world in which stewed a young and cruel life. A world, in which equally young Melkor ruined and raised mountains, when the burning blood of Arda in floods exploded from the depths and the sky, was cloaked in smoke and ash. And as a joyous spirit the beautiful Ore bathed in the floods of steamed lava, again and again heated the stone flesh, and the crushing element ravaged freely, taking away all in its' path and the luxuriant forests of Yavanna fell into the molten depths, and the tall ridges, raised by Aule, collapsed one after another... She followed Melkor in all of his deeds, but didn't accept servitude, for she was too tempestuous... And when he tired to talk with a mighty and beautiful Maia, she slithered away from him, scattering into streams of sparks... Many of Ore's kin came onto Melkor's side in his rebellion, but her sill was involved in destructive joys and didn't want to submit and even learn... But watching after the Lord of Darkness, the Maia developed sympathy and respect to this mighty and freedom-loving spirit, and when the last war came, she took-on the guise of Valarauke and fought on the rebels' side. Ore struck down many Maiar but came to a battle with Tulkas, and was cruelly wounded, only a miracle saved from disintegration... For the three passed centuries the strengths returned to her, but she didn't want to become a Valarauke, and only wandered at the roots of the earth, from time to time submerging into the fiery heart of Arda...

"I can't compare with you, o mighty Ore..."

"I know the meaning in destruction, but you are also a creator, Artano. Blinding, shining snows and giant icy islands, seemingly from opaque-blue crystal... I saw those that you've created - they are beautiful... And the weapons and armor that you've forged for my brothers... And their underground chambers - those dark, red-hot abysses in the bowels of the mountains..."

"Stop, I beg you... I am just a pupil; my Teacher surpasses me in all. But I want one thing - which we'd be together..."

A resemblance of a warm smile lit-up her face and the beautiful-intimidating features grew foggy. Moments later Artano saw a very tall stately woman in a long purple dressed. Her features become more delicate, fiery-red hairs in waves cloaked her shoulders, the dusky skin in color resembled dark amber, but the bright, light eyes shone in the same fashion and the bent coppery-golden brows gave the a tempting expression...

"Come them, the Possessing the Strength of Flame."

"How'd you call me, Daughter of Fire?"

"You were him always..."

And they ran for a long time, overriding the wind, and deathly-blue lightning bolts pierced them through, and thunder claps shook the cliffs... Thus the night passed. The rays of dawn, barely piercing through the heavy thunderclouds, colored the slopes of the mountains into bloody crimson. The lovers went eastward, dimly did whiten the proud snowed peaks...

"It seemed that just recently did I awake here the forces of the depth and Arda's blood burst from the bowels... My time passed... "

"You just grew tired - you were wounded, escaped by a miracle... But now you are strong again!"

"And I want to reach that what is hidden in earth's depths."

"I'll help you."

In the bowels of a huge mountain, through Ore's strength of flame and Artano's artistry, they created their chambers. Completely unresembling Utumno, these chambers were filled with the glow of wondrous gems that kept undying sparks of primeval fire. With deep, slithering glimmers glowed opals, sharply glistened diamonds, like drops of blood did rubies burn and through the walls seemingly flowed the floods of streamed flame... Other chambers were cloaked by darkness, and the morion walls were covered in artful engravings where were the imagery of Great Music - as it was comprehended by Artano. Not one design repeated itself and any of Illuvatar's Children, seeing these images and attempting to understand them could go mad... In the main chamber reigned a mysterious twilight and a weak, seemingly dead light of enchanted sapphires didn't scatter it, but only supplemented it instead... Walls of mountain crystal and chalcedony seemed to be icy and in them seemed the images of the light and quick spirits of cold that reigned in the north and remote south, and somewhere in the heights, under the roof, one could see their inconceivable changeable creations, shining amidst the pure stars.

"You did a wonderful work, lover mine. Our children will grow up in surroundings of suck beauty!"

"Children? We'll have children?"

Artano never thought about that, although he bore the image of Eru's children. But for some reason his spirit soared, although he himself couldn't understand why...

"And you didn't know that Maiar too could have children?"

"Well..."

"Just what kind of beings are men? You want to cheer him, and he thinks "well...""

Instead of answer he kissed him. Ore was in the guise of Valarauke but the primeval fire didn't burn him one bit... And again they were spirits and submerged into subterranean flame...

Their happiness was brief, for Artano promised his Lord return after a year.

"I'll be back, beloved... In the time of Arda not two years shall pass, and since there where I'm going, time is standing still. And therefore my sojourn will be unseemingly greater than yours..."

"I'll be waiting for you. Pity only that the twins will be born without you... But I'll teach them all that I know myself..."

The spark of creation that bore in her burned brighter and brighter. Fortunately, Maiar are different from the incarnated ones, they don't need drink and food and even air... But Ore bore their image and therefore experienced enough hardship before she birthed the twins.

The children turned-out unlike each other. The boy, firmly built, very dusky and fiery-red, resembled mother, but he got the dark eyes of Artano, and the girl, black-haired and white-skinned, with burningly bright gaze, resembled the father and the Maia immediately felt that the daughter had inherited his nature.

She didn't deem strange at all that on the other day the newly born Maiar got tired of dwelling in the bounds of flesh and they like two shining carefree spirits sprinted through the wondrous underground chambers. One of them beamed with a fiery force and the other resembled a formless sparking cloud of darkness. Mentally agreeing with them, Ore turned into primeval flame and soon all three roamed freely, amongst transparent cold azure and snowbound mountain peaks, where only the wind howls forlornly.

_Tulle... A quicksilver spirit, awakened volcano, unbreakable might of subterranean fire overfills you..._

_Morring... A mountain echo, speeding avalanche, a remote nocturnal sky, pierced with the icy sparks of the stars... Darkness is in you and you are its' incarnation..._

Spirits don't need words. Thoughts and images penetrate the conscious and stay there forever, like runes that with a quick and artful hand inscribed on a new pergament...

They visited every corner of Arda, high in the heavens and in the burning depths. They discovered the mysteries of earth, fire and air, and only water was opposed to them. In time Tulle and Morring began to learn what their mother could: shake Arda's flesh, ruin and raise mountains, cast into ruin whole cities - but that was later, much later. And for now they were young and subject to thoughtless joy...

With the appearance of the two young Maiar the loneliness of Ore vanished without a trace. In deep caves and cracks, in the survived catacombs of Utumno, was the unchecked rule of Valarukar - her distant relatives. They rarely came to the surface for they loved the darkness. After meeting some of those gloomy demons, Tulle began to join them in the submerging into the flame of the bowels and there he was possessed by joy and drunken, insane rejoicing... They reached the concentration of strength and they saw unreachable and slipping-away worlds, whose eternity lasts only a moment... And this unbound might fed them and Ore against sensed joy and newness of the world, just like in the faraway days of her stormy youth.

Morring traveled together with her mother and brother, but secretly from them sought the unknown - her imagination with excited by the way into another world through which her father had left... And what if it doesn't lie through the limitless spaces of Ea? The young Maia felt space as clearly as light and sound. If beyond Arda it could be compared with tightly wound cloth, then there, in the depths, it seemingly got bent, got twisted, and as deeper Morring submerges, then more brachiated and confused did the straight ways become. May be, exactly there is located the promised door? No matter how hard Morring tried, she couldn't reach the weave of the unseen threads of creation, for creation cruelly punishes those, who try to penetrate its mysteries... But while the Maia did feel its' rightful touches, irreversibly changing her self.

With the pass of time, Morring began to sense strange desires. Unlike her mother and brother, who didn't like wearing a body guise, she often incarnated, causing unavoidable mockery of Tulle: "Why crawl, if you can fly?" Ore, on other hand, became sad. "I think that I see Artano before me... ", she said. "Remember only one thing - in the flesh, we, Maia, become weak, not because our strengths decrease, but because we get used to being thus. Eat, drink and sleep, feel the heat, cold and pain - the fate of the incarnated. You must remain strong, Morring."

She was afraid to admit to mother and brother that she was attracted to the Children of Eru. She often saw them, fluttering in the bright forests of Doriat, in the foggy lands of Hisilome and the montane Nevrast, in the forests of Seven rivers and even on the other side of Blue mountains, and was endlessly ready to listen to their enchanting songs, listen, how they dance under the light of the moon and the stars... But most of all she adored the people who came from the other side of the sea - a people of warriors and masters, stalwart and valiant. Unseen, watching them, Morring understood their crafts and even military science, and for that she didn't need to hold in her hands a sword or a blacksmith's hammer, for with her gaze she reached into the hidden self of things...

Thus ten years passed...

... As a light breeze she slithered under the dark chambers. Pale fires, shuddering in red-hot air, didn't disperse darkness, like the wraiths of extinguished stars, lost in endless space. In the end of a long corridor flushed dark scarlet shadows - it lay at the very mountain roots, where now even the dwarves could reach - even they can't reach to the depth of ten leagues.

The summoning grew stronger, capturing all of her self. She for a moment hesitated at the edge - from the depths of a bottomless black pit raised the tongues of merciless and intimidating crimson flame - and hurried below, towards the masterful call. In it sounded despair and unbound joy - and love, dampened by a long sojourn. Flushing red-hot flows, burning away the light...Impossible hard to pass through the firm yet moving mantle that is only the unbreakable flesh of Arda can contain... Deeper, deeper... Blinding flame of endlessly changing material - for uncountable measures of the moment the tiniest selves form most complex fusions and again gain freedom, born, die, born again... The cloth of space bends, twists, and they follow her tempestuous folds... Even deeper... Who am I? Memory shutters into myriads of shards, but the bunds of will do not allow them to scatter in this steaming chaos... Neither thoughts nor feelings remained - only space, summoning, pulling, mind-twisting... What is in that space? Doom or salvation? All the same... She is no longer...

The threads of space came together but didn't interweave, the cloth formed something like a narrow throat. Here is the concentration of Arda, the door into other worlds. Or other universes? The falling suddenly stopped. She felt an influx of strength, and after that - someone's presence.

Two dark spirits watched after the young Maia. One of them many times surpassed her in strength, and the other surpassed in immeasurable times. She thought that they smile.

_...And she resembles you - just as stubborn and uncontrollable..._

_...I so awaited this meeting..._

_...Father?_

_Came a soft wave of warmness..._

_...My daughter Morring...And this - Lord Melkor._

_Powerful and calm, all-encompassing darkness, in which one can dissolve without a trace... A gloomy grin..._

_...No need for ceremonies. Simply - Melkor..._

The Maia was happy for she met, at last, her father, whom she awaited for so long. And the presence of the Lord of Darkness, overfilled her with the feeling of her own importance - so, probably, felt the young page, who first, of all the war-host, met the returned king. They quickly rose to the surface and Artano showed the way. Uncountable numbers of spirits greeted the Dark Lord and their voices so shook the primeval flame that one the surface volcanoes started to awaken, and huge waves rolled to the shores of southern seas, threatening to erase entire cities from the face of the earth... The demons rejoice, possessed by insane joy, and those, who slept in dark caves, awakened from many centuries of sleep, sensing the touch of a mighty will...

_... Melkor is back!_

_...Lead us, Lord!_

_In stern deadly rays - Melkor's voice:_

_...Darkness is with us!_

_...Darkness with us! _

Cold bluish fires scathingly illuminated the cold magnificence of the main chamber.

The tall powerful figure in black dropping clothes came out of firm twilight. Only deathly-pale face with dark holes of eyes differed from the background of flowing darkness of wave hair, completely opaque in quivering lights. With harmonic and firm features he resembled the delicately handsome eldar, but in his bottomless eyes was no meditating peace, nor cool self-control, nor inspirational dreaming - only deeply hid dark fire, ready at any moment to come free.

Just like Artano, Melkor earlier loved to be incarnated and with his whole body feel life which pierces the existence. But after the three centuries of imprisonment, when he couldn't burst free from the binds of flesh, the hateful dwelling the blessed Aman and the story with Silmarils that had almost ruined him, the Black Vala became more careful, and didn't want to lose strength that resulted from a prolonged being in fana. But in the home of his pupil and best friend he could allow himself to forget about caution.

Artano, all that time invisibly flying in the air, also took-on his usual guise of a tall stately noldo, with a piercing (and a bit excited) gaze of black shining eyes. He was dressed in the color of darkness but rather resembled an elf, which was off to hunt, than a Fallen Maia. Only sometimes in the expression of his face came something sly and even threatening.

Artano resembled Melkor like a brother, but their features were different in character. The dark fire of the Rebellious one was temperate by the common sense of cunning Artano, the reason why, they probably bonded so closely - the strongest of Valar and the strongest of Maiar.

Gathering courage, Morring became a pretty girls, much higher, however, than elves of the same age. She wore a long silvery dress and a silver diadem; heavy black hair chaotically fell onto her shoulders and back.

"I am happy to greet you, Lord Melkor," politely said Morring in clearest Quenya and bowed with elven elegance. The faerni gasped. Melkor froze from astonishment.

"Thank you, beautiful maid, for the kind words," he replied in the same language. "Tell me, where did you learn the language of the elves of Light?"

"Unseen I hovered in northern mountains, where dwell the elves who came from the sea. There I've learned their language. For mother and brother speak only in thoughts... images but not words.

"Well how that is," Melkor uttered. "Well, if time will allow - I'll teach you Valarine. It is more fitting to a Maiar's daughter."

A scarlet flash lit-up the shadowy subterranean chamber - in the opposite end now loomed two tall broad-shouldered figures, cloaked in dark flame, with wide smoking wings. Seeing them, Artano wildly smiled.

"I have the honor to introduce to you, lord Melkor - my spouse Ore and son Tulle."

"We've met," the Valarauke rumbled, stepping forth. Melkor surprised looked at her - only once he had seen such a huge and mighty demon of fire. And he remembered.

"So, it was you?" finally the Black Vala uttered. "The one who first came to the battle with Tulkas and fought him one on one, before my host and scattered his Maiar like puppies?"

"Me," she bared her shining teeth in an imitation of a smile. "Then I didn't know that he was invincible."

"Your sword reached him more than once. But Tulkas was made so - there's no weapon or curse in Arda that can harm him."

"So you knew about it when led us into battle?" astonished whispered Artano.

"I knew," Melkor half-closed his eyes. "We had no chance for victory."

"Even if you told us nothing would have changed," firmly spoke the Black Maia. Ore nodded in agreement.

"Maybe you're right," the Vala closed his eyes. "But why, in the name of Darkness, you fought for me and almost died, and I didn't even know your name?"

The smoke wings cloaked Ore and she became a beautiful woman in a bright crimson flowing dress. In head and stature she was almost equal to Melkor.

"From the very beginning, we and you, Mighty one, were on the same side. But I didn't accept your way and didn't stand under your banners, since overall I value my freedom and don't want to submit. Be next with you - means to accept you as my ruler. And I see a friend in you - no more and no less."

The answer of his wife shocked Artano - he deified Melkor and couldn't imagine his existence without serving the Black Vala. But Melkor himself looked at Ore with open respect.

"Well then, to be your friend - a greater honor than to become your ruler."

Tulle, listening the talk of the adults, didn't dare to join them, but eventually gathered the courage.

"Lord Melkor..." his voice was like a mountain echo.

"What, my boy?"

"I want to be your warrior."

The Black Vala raised his eyebrows in surprise. Three centuries ago he without a thought would have accepted the oath of this mighty demon. But now it appeared to him that Tulle is too young to choose.

"You really want this?"

"Yes, Mighty one."

"Then gather strength and wisdom learn the secret knowledge and the magic arts. And when you'll become an adult, we'll continue this talk."

"Your word is my law." The Valarauko bent his head, crowned with a long fiery mane. Ore glanced at him unkindly and winked to Artano. He grinned in reply.

"Well, oh mighty Ainur, welcome to the feast of the returning," with a smile said the Black Maia.

Artano waved his hand and immediately in the centre of the chamber appeared a long table of miraculous beauty and elegant armchairs with tall backs, cut-out of bluish opal. On the table dully gleamed tall grails out of back adamant? In them beat and gleamed pure golden-scarlet flame.

Ore looked at her husband, confused, but Melkor understood all, and sadly smiled.

The spirits of darkness and mighty Valaraukar took their places at the round table. The Rebellious One lifted the grail.

_...For our great future!_

The streaming fire burned, mixing with the being of Ainur, and filled her with joyous and wild strength.

Subterranean rumble, the rumbling of an approaching avalanche...

_...Interesting, would have Manwe like this drink?_

The howl of the high wind - voice of eternal night...

_...Assuredly invite him next time; he's my brother after all..._

_...Why, he'll be afraid to come... better let's go and visit him ourselves..._

_...After about five hundred years..._

_...Better yet - after a thousand..._

_...Och, no, Manwe is peaceful...Now Namo - another thing, he best is left alone..._

Nobody noticed how Morring, till that moment shyly glaring at Melkor, like an arrow flew from the chamber. Chaos reigned in her soul; she wanted to flee away, far away from her native house - and forget the cool look, cloaking all of her being with the soft waves of darkness.

**Doom of noldor**

Ragged black clouds got slightly dispersed in the east, and in the narrow gap dimly glowed scarlet the disk of the rising sun. Its beams slipped through the slim pine trunks, setting them alight like torches. Immovable, grey-steel surface of the lake Mitrim maliciously reflected the scarlet splashes. The bloody dawn in Endorie - memory of the past and the omen of the upcoming cruel fate? Over the water rose barely noticeable fog; not a breath of breeze, not a slight disturbance on the frozen surface. Only a quiet splash of water at the nearby shore boulders and remote shouts of the awakened birds break the sorcerous silence of this morning.

Maitimo didn't sleep at all last night - the stalwart means, shadow-dueling with two blades, couldn't disperse his alarm. Therefore, after midnight he left camp and till the very sunrise wandered through the forest. A similar pine forests have surrounded Formenos, now lost without a hope...

His thoughts constantly turned to Findecano and Nolfinwe. Where are they, what's with them? Did they return to bright Valinor? But they have no way back, for they are too marked with innocent blood. Nolofinwe had held his word, but for his loyalty to his word, Feanaro paid him with black treason... Maitimo couldn't get rid of nibbling pain that infested his heart in the moment when his father ordered to burn down the ships. Even in Alcavalonde it was easier - there they killed, killed those who were weaker, but still in an open battle. But to strike their relatives a lowly blow in the back - dishonor...

...Nobody persuasions could hold the Fiery Spirit of the most artful of noldor from a crazed action. Yes, indeed insanity, blind and cruel, bound with dark ice once shining gaze of Feanaro. When Ambarto didn't come to the morning name roll and Ambarussa suddenly remembered his refusal to spend the night on shore, all stood, unable to utter a word, and then father laughed terribly and then tears dropped down his cheeks. "What have I done," repeated he, sheathing his face with his arms, "what have I done..." Ambarto was discovered in a couple of hours - Morio accidentally found him near from camp, drunk senseless... (What particular is that till that doomful event Ambarto almost didn't drink wine, and after it began to feel to this nice in all means drink an open disgust. And his maternal nickname _Umbarto _got firmly stuck to him and gained mocking tinge. But the youngest brother didn't mind...) Both then had to be doused with cold sea-water - and Feanaro, who constantly emitted woeful weeping that transformed then into soundless laugher, and Ambarto, who didn't recognize anyone and spoke complete nonsense. The insanity proved infectious - the eldar, originally joyous about the sudden "salvation" of the youngest feanaring and filled with bitterness from the done treason, began to strike shields with their swords and yell the blackest curses. Not only Moringoto was mentioned, but the blessed Valar as well. Back then Maitimo was as rabid as everyone else - the memories of that didn't bring him joy. The father, with a brightened gaze hugged a grim and remote Ambarto, frowning Macalaure, merry Ambarussa, sword-swinging Carnistiro, crazed Tielcormo... No, not Melkor put into us the seed of evil - he just awakened the evil in our souls...

When Maitimo came to the camp, the sun rose sufficiently high and shone like a pale spot through low-lying grey clouds... High tents, set in complete rows, brightly shone on the background of foggy-grey wall of the tall forest.

"Hey, Maitimo!" This voice could belong to only one of eldar. Turning around, he saw standing at the very water Macalaure. He was paler and gloomier than usual and twisted in his thin fingers some pale forest flower. "Where were you all night?"

"Almost in the same place as you," Maitimo grinned, joining his brother.

"You're right, I was also sleepless... You know, I made a song."

"Most probably, it's a very sad song," spoke Maitimo, attentively looking into the icy-blue eyes of Macalaure. He just sighed.

"Noldolante"...

"You will sing it to me?"

"I will. But only when the pain in our hearts dies down a little."

"Not soon will this time come"...

"Then we'll wait." Macalaure bowed his head and heavy black hair fell onto his face. After the slaughter in Alcavalonde the greatest bard of noldor had subtly changed - his former thoughtfulness and dreamfullness turned to hopeless misery and despair. He lost hope - Maitimo felt it sharper than others. He wanted somehow just to disperse this merciless darkness, but healing a soul is much harder than to invent new ways of battle or to gain the self of metal. He couldn't find the right words and cursed his own helplessness, seeing how his brother, one step after another, sinks into an abyss even more terrible than the one that had swallowed their father's soul. For Feanaro thirsted for vengeance - and victory. And Macalaure didn't believe in victory.

"All was in vain. All."

"We came here to avenge - and we'll avenge," firmly said Maitimo. "We didn't find the Enemy but it's not a reason to surrender just like that!"

"Maitimo... nolofinges have crossed Helcaraxe."

He didn't believe his ears.

"What? Why didn't you say that earlier?"

Macalaure turned to him a completely emotionless face.

"Father rides to parlay with Nolofinwe. And also he said that only you and I will accompany him. According to him, we're "the most rational thinkers"."

"He's gone mad!" Macalaure just grinned at those words. "You can imagine just what kind of parlay this will be?"

"I only remember how father set his sword to Nolofinwe's throat... But could somebody escape fate?"

"Great Valar..." Maitimo raised his head and looked at the sky. He clenched his teeth and took control of himself.

"Let's go," he uttered. "Or father will leave without us."

When the brothers came into the tent, Feanaro had already dressed himself into a long firm chain mail, and the squire was already tightening the belts on his greaves. Finwe's son was in unexplainable good spirits. His light grey eyes glowed from wicked joy and he failed to hide it behind an ironic grin - Feanaro overall could poorly hide his feelings, and his thin, movable, somewhat nervous face gave him up one way or another.

"The discipline in the army is slacking," he said mockingly, glancing at Macalaure. "Even high lords wander away at night to various destinations..."

"Insomnia," the bard uttered in a distant tone of voice

"Why the long face, boys? Maitimo, soon you'll see your precious Findecano - but look darker than a storm cloud... And you, Macalaure, as I see, played on the harp all night, spilling bitter tears?"

An honest confused of their father's caused a pale smile on Maitimo's face but he kept silent. Feanaro shook his head, jerking back the wild black hairs.

"Do you think that with your gloomy face you'll be able to scare away the evil fate? Isn't it better to meet it with a smile?" the son of Finwe laughed, gleaming with even white teeth.

Maitimo raised his head and testingly looked his father in the eyes.

"You're preparing for battle?" asked he.

"I'm getting ready for a meeting. You better go and get clad with armor."

"And where are the others?"

Feanaro's smile vanished.

"Tonight I had a dream. And as soon as light broke sent them on scouting missions. Most likely they'll return in a couple of days - this time will be sufficient."

"So, Nolofinwe... gave you a challenge?" Maitimo wouldn't quit.

Feanaro's stubbornness had long since become proverbial and if he didn't want to talk, you wouldn't get one word out of him. Leaving, Macalaure suddenly turned to father and asked:

"Still, who has talked with you in Utumno?"

Feanaro's gaze seemingly got covered with thin ice.

"You as well as I know his name."

Four of them rode after all - with them was young Elemakar, Feanaro's squire. The illuminated pine forest sometimes climbed small yet steep cliffs, and many streams dripped on their sides to the silver waters of Mitrim Lake. Nolofinges broke camp on the southern shore, and the established place of parlay was a cleft granite cliff and the westernmost point of the lake. In some emptier spaces of pale grey clouds the celestial azure showed. A completely different sky from the one they saw in Valinor - endless-starry and foggy-glowing, twisting with all the tinges, a hundred times more beautiful, but for some reason an untold joy overfilled them at the sight of this clean, transparent blueness. Golden sunbeams flashed like bright sparks, reflecting in dewdrops, colored with fiery splashes the stately tree trunks. Nothing forewarned doom and in Maitimo's heart appeared a dim hope on a better result of the parlay. Macalaure, on the other hand, was submerged in his black thoughts and kept silence. Feanaro often told plain jokes - Elemakar blushed, Maitimo felt genuinely happy, but the bard reacted poorly to them. In the end, though, these jokes reached their goal - the fighting spirit reached the need level. After some more time they reached the tall granite cliff that stood alone amongst the forest.

Feanaro didn't doubt that his brother awaited him. He got off the horse and ordered his sons to wait him at the foot - to argue with him was pointless. And he and his squire began to go up the narrow path.

Maitimo silently turned to his brother:

"We'll wait, till he gets up - and after him. We can go over there to the left; we'll be unseen behind the bushes".

"We can't - it's a battle of honor".

Macalaure broke the gaze.

No matter how hard it was for Maitimo to remain inactive he got himself back under control, for get involved in a parlay, never mind a battle of honor - against all rules. His heart broke from the realization of his own helpfulness and glared at the gloomily calm Macalaure trying to understand, what gives him strength - unshakeable will or hopeless despair.

"Do under, I also suffer. But if not here, then it some other time and place they'll finish this talk. And nobody can't warranty that at that moment in time each of them won't lead an army".

Nolofinwe indeed awaited him - in a shining silvered chain mail and also sans helmet. A breeze played with his dark chestnut curls. The son of Indis extremely resembled his father Finwe - the same ideally right, willful features, the powerful body build, a royal stance. Self-controlled, calm and patient he seemed older than the flighty and explosive Feanaro, although in reality he was about a century younger than he. And that cool self-assurance of Nolofinwe, his ability in any situation to control himself, forced others to respect him. The brothers showed a complete reverse of each other, and only one thing united them - each wanted to be the first in all.

Thus they some time quietly stood against each other. Nolofinwe - supposedly accidentally putting his let hand on the sword hilt, Feanaro - as if trying to incinerate him with his fiery gaze. Not immediately did he notice that in the dark-grey eyes of the younger brother hides a deeply hidden weariness.

"There, in the ices of Helkaraxe I many times asked myself one question: what will I ask you when, at last, we'll meet?" In the deep rasping voice of Nolofinwe sounded the uncaring of an avalanche falling off the mountain. "And here I see you and in my heart is no anger left. There's nothing left in it, except to disgust for you - for you don't deserve hatred."

Ingoldo couldn't invent a worse insult - in the bright eyes of Feanaro flared a crazy fire.

"You await from me words of explanation?" almost through his teeth spoke him. "Then you will never get them. Because there's no explanation and excuse for me neither in this life nor in afterlife nor ever! I'm cursed - but cursed you are also, for you followed me."

"We are both cursed - our hands are in blood and there's no way back," calmly replied Nolofinwe. "I'm a killer too - but not a traitor."

Feanaro couldn't control himself - may be in the depths of his soul he wanted repentance, but he thought that repentance wouldn't change anything, and only humiliates him in his brother's eyes. Anger clouded his mind and his heart flowed with hatred - more, then Moringoto, he at that moment hated himself. And insanity, sleeping in him till now, awoke with a new strength...

"You have followed me to chase me to the very end of the world? You will fight me as with the very Enemy, for in the eyes of the Valar I became an incarnation of evil, is it not so? That's because the Enemy isn't here and when he isn't available, he must be created - or invented. Because otherwise it'll be impossible to live!"

Nolofinwe stepped back - he never seen his brother like so.

"What do you mean - no Enemy?"

"I was there... in Utumno. It is just ruins. He fled like a coward... Mighty noldor have none to war with!" Feanaro laughed. "Manwe, probably, sees it from his throne and shakes from laughter! And Moringoto there, in the space, laughs at him... And at us! All was in vain..."

Nolofinwe grabbed him by the shoulders and shook.

"Come to your senses, what are you saying!

Feanaro burst free and stepped back a step.

"You do want to kill me, dear brother - you haven't forgotten my blade, set to your throat. What for are these empty words and a game in hide-and-seek? You sent me a challenge - so let's talk in the language of steel, like two men!"

"Then I forgave you. But I won't forgive the demise of those who remained in Helcaraxe's ices. And you will never admit your fault..." Nolofinwe closed his eyes. "Well then, the curse is upon us."

He stepped back a couple of steps and unsheathed a huge sword on whose blade weaves curious designs. In Feanaro's hands gleamed a very thin and long sword with a second, small, hand-guard and an unusual waving edge in the middle of the blade.

Nolofinwe surpassed his brother in strength, but Feanaro had above average agility and speed and also was used to spend his days, from morning till night, work with a hammer in a smithy. Wiry, wide-shouldered and thin, he was a dangerous opponent, even more so because he studied with the best swordsman of noldor - his son Maitimo. Because he didn't want to learn from Melkor.

The blades collided with a rung. From the side it was hard to distinguish separate blows and feints, the swords seemingly dissolved in the air, leaving only diffused images. Nolofinwe's blows seemingly fell into empty space, but Feanaro too couldn't get to his opponent, for his every advance was seemingly thrown off by a tight wave. Two worth masters met in a deadly challenge and this challenge was truly a captivating sight. On a rough stone spot it was easy to stumble and lose balance, but the brothers moved like air spirits that didn't need to walk on land. At some moment Nolofinwe made a mistake - at that moment the sun came from the clouds, and he stood exactly opposite the sun. Was it an accident, or did Feanaro foresee this, but all was decided by shares of moments: the eldest son of Finwe easily parried the blow and turned, slithered behind his back. To the right side of the ribs a cruel pain flared - the wavy blade cleft the chain mail and struck the ribs. Nolowinfe instantly turned and unleashed onto his brother a squall of mighty blows - the battle continued. It was hard to concentrate the will to stop the blood and he didn't manage to do it immediately. Weariness slowly but surely did its' work, and Feanaro gradually turned into active assault. It is unknown how would the battle ended, if his luck didn't change. He stepped onto a patch of grey lichen under which hid a small crack in stone - and lost balance. Losing equilibrium for a short moment, Feanaro didn't have time to parry a powerful blow from above, only tried to dodge. He managed to do it only halfway - the blade slipped a bit and only because of that didn't cleave his head. Before eyes green and orange sparks flashed, from some place to the right came waves of pain. But a fiery spirit burned in him, and blinded by pain, deathly wounded Feanaro grasped the sword by his left hand at the lesser guard and like a spring struck forward and upward, in a quick strike giving the last blow...

The narrow "flaming" blade pierced Nolofinwe clean through, he wasn't even saved a double-woven chain mail. He inhaled but could not exhale, for the steel pierced the left lung. His strong solemn face reflected unbound surprise.

"Forgive me," he whispered, and, tottering, fell lifeless. Feanaro too didn't stay on his legs and senseless fell on the ground.

The squires had first reached their lords. Maitimo and Macalaure immediately jumped from the bushes, and from the opposite side appeared two familiar figures in long silvered chain mails: might red-haired Findecano and state golden-haired Artafinde. And it was good luck - the son of Arafinwe had a healer's gift, and therefore some hope still remained. The squires were sent for back-up help.

For some reason, Feanaro's blood stopped surprisingly quickly - it seemed that the fiery fea aides hroa, unwilling to leave it. It was harder with Nolofinwe - they couldn't remove blade from the wound and therefore - take-off his chain mail as well. But cold steel diffused the force and soon all four were so weak, that almost fell from weariness. Finally, with a general effort, both wounded stopped bleeding.

"His brain is damaged," wearily uttered much paler Artafinde, looking at the senseless Feanaro. "And Nolofinwe will live until the blade remains in the wound."

"And what does this mean?" worriedly asked Macalaure.

"It's beyond my strength," Arafinvion exhaled heavily.

"At least, they don't suffer," firmly said Maitimo. His face remained impenetrable, but doom froze in his gaze. Suddenly, he jumped up.

"I swear, brothers, before the face of Eru Illuvatar that never will raise a hand on my kin, lest I'd be swallowed by eternal darkness!

Findecano stood next to him and took his hand.

"I swear..."

Artafinde with adoration looked at them and put his hand onto their handshake.

"I swear..."

"This oath I give with great joy..." uttered Macalaure."I swear..."

They didn't notice how from the bushes came a short, quite young sinda with bottomless eyes the color of darkness. Slim, even fragile, dressed in grey clothes and a long cape, he seemed almost fleshless, as if woven from fog. Dark silvery-ashen hair in light curls fell onto his back, framing a handsome and icy-pale face. The slim hands were in light gloves from thin skin with wide openings.

"Don't swear, noble warriors," resonated the clear voice, "for you don't know what'll be with you tomorrow."

The feanorings instantly recognized him.

"You?" Maitimo asked surprised. "From where did you get here?"

"I can help them survive."

With one unnoticeable movement he was next to them.

"Wait, I know who you are," the eldest of feanorings put his hand on the shoulder. "You won't get away from me so easily."

"Noble Maitimo, your father is dying, and you can't do anything. Do you have the right to deny him help?"

"Let him be Moringoto himself!" passionately exclaimed Findecano. At these words the sinda grinned darkly and this grin totally didn't match his thin, almost childish face. "Let him go, Maitimo, we have no choice!"

Shaking his head grimly, the son of Feanaro stepped away.

The sinda bent onto the lying Nolofinwe and with one movement pulled the sword from the wound. Findecano involuntarily looked away. The healer didn't even touch the wounds - just for a moment it appeared that on the youth's face came some shadow. At that moment Nolofinwe inhaled - and immediately coughed, blood appeared on his lips. Findecano grabbed his father by an arm and hopefully stared at his face.

When the young healer went to Feanaro, Nolofinwe opened his eyes, but his gaze was still fogged by death.

"Atarinja..." Findecano, incapable of uttering one more word, pressed his hand to the chest.

"Namo... I'm before you... the doom is done..."

"There is no doom, you will live!"

Nolofinwe lost conscience again.

For some time the dark-eyed sinda immovably sat next to the senseless Feanaro, putting his palms on the terrible wound over the right ear that had cleft the temple and the cheek. When the magic act was over, the young healer tiredly opened the hands - apparently, even his unimaginable strengths had their limit. Feanaro didn't come to senses, but judging from even breathing his life was beyond danger. The blood was washed off his face on his pale skin was a deep fresh scar, vanishing under the hair.

"Don't worry, Findecano," with a pale smile spoke the sinda, "after a few days Ingoldo will be back on his feet."

Nobody at that moment deemed strange that an unknown youth knows their names. He strangely looked at Maitimo and Macalaure, bending over their father.

"While with Feanaro naught is so simple. His health is beyond danger... I mean physical health."

"What do you mean?" worriedly asked Maitimo.

"Hard to explain... You know that fea affects hroa, but the reverse is also correct. And that part of fea, that is called indo, is directly connected with the brain."

From the four noldor only Artafinde clearly understood what is being said. He frowned and broke the gaze.

"You said that you healed him..." Macalaure said half-inquiring.

"And I don't deny my words. But ready that for some time he'll be wandering in the dark and won't immediately return to light."

"He'll be back." assuredly said Maitimo.

"Undoubtedly... I'll do all that I can," with a soft smile said the sinda. "Well, I must be off."

He got to his feet.

"We'll meet yet, noble knights of noldor."

"Wait!" shouted Maitimo. "I don't even know your name!"

"You said you did," the youth winked slyly.

"I took you for someone else..."

The youth didn't reply, slipped into the shrubbery and soundlessly vanished.

An uneasy silence hanged.

"He reminds me of someone..." Artafinde spoke. "These eyes ..."

"The sindar have no such eyes," replied Findecano. "Who is he, Maitimo? For whom did you take him?"

In reply Maitimo just mirthlessly grinned - just like Feanaro. When he didn't want to talk, it was useless to ask him.


End file.
